


Things Are Different in the Dark

by Tahlruil



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel 1872
Genre: M/M, POV Steve Rogers, Steve Rogers Feels, Stony Bingo, Stony Bingo 2017, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-06 03:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11027370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tahlruil/pseuds/Tahlruil
Summary: '... The thing of it was, Stark couldn’t even sing. He was a damned blacksmith, had been surrounded by billowing smoke back when he’d actually worked, and he drank more whiskey than the rest of Timely put together. Those two things combined meant his voice was rough, damaged and smoky; neither excused his inability to carry a tune. Steve shouldn’t enjoy the warbling song – chosen for vaguely insulting reasons – even half so much as he did. At least this time Stark was getting all the words right, so he probably wasn’ttoodrunk. No, if he remembered all the words, he’d be just drunk enough, willing and able to do all the filthy things that sent a shiver of anticipation through Steve just to think about...'For the 'Canon - 1872 prompt'





	Things Are Different in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Confession - I only read one and a half of these comics, because I meant to read all of them and got distracted distracted. This story happened when I woke up today anyway, and I _think_ it fits and works with canon? I plan on finishing the series, so if I find out I'm waaay off base I'll come back and edit, or if any of you guys know this is wildly inaccurate, please let me know so I can tweak it. XD
> 
> Also, I haven't been feeling social enough to respond to comments lately, but they really do mean the world to me and always make my day! Please leave me some? :D

“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes…”

The thing of it was, Stark couldn’t even sing. He was a damned blacksmith, had been surrounded by billowing smoke back when he’d actually worked, and he drank more whiskey than the rest of Timely put together. Those two things combined meant his voice was rough, damaged and smoky; neither excused his inability to carry a tune. Steve shouldn’t enjoy the warbling song – chosen for vaguely insulting reasons – even half so much as he did. At least this time Stark was getting all the words right, so he probably wasn’t _too_ drunk. No, if he remembered all the words, he’d be just drunk enough, willing and able to do all the filthy things that sent a shiver of anticipation through Steve just to think about.

“…from glen to glen, and down the mountain side. The summer’s gone…”

He knew their… meetings were beneath his dignity, beneath both of them, he did. And if things were just a little different, he’d lay claim to Stark publicly. If Stark was a little less wounded and drank a little less, or if Steve were a little less fixated and the town just a little less fed-up with his crusade for justice, or if Mayor Fisk were a little less dangerous, he’d do it. He’d walk right up to Stark one day under the sun, in front of God and the whole damned town and make it clear the blacksmith was _his_. Then he wouldn’t have to grit his teeth and bear it while Stark flirted with everyone he came across. He wouldn’t have to wonder (and hate himself for doing it) if the man was tumbling other gentleman or a flurry of skirts when he wasn’t with Steve. If he could let everyone know that he and Stark were together, he could go to that damned saloon and haul Stark out by his ear without setting tongues to wagging. Stark wouldn’t need to get drunk to sing that awful song. Hell, they wouldn’t need the song at all if he was Stark’s and Stark was his.

Steve’d never admit that he’d sort of miss it, awful as Stark was at singing.

“… it’s you, it’s you must go and I must bide. But…”

Sometimes, Steve didn’t respond well to the oddly plaintive call. When the guilt and the fury he always carried with him burned too hot in his gut, he would ignore Stark until he went away. On the nights when Steve was sure he didn’t deserve anything good, anything that made him remotely happy, he would drive Stark away with cruel and cutting words. And when Bucky’s ghost lingered too near, when all he could think of was his deputy, his _best friend_ , and how he’d _failed him_ , Steve would sit with his back against the front door and weep. Knowing that Stark was there, mirroring his pose on the other side, was all the comfort he’d allow himself on nights like that.

Even on the best nights, Steve refused to let Stark in before he reached the second verse. The one time he had, the man had teased him about being so eager for days. It wasn’t worth it, not when this was all they could have between them. Not when they were each other’s poorly kept secret. Besides, he could use the first verse and part of the second to imagine how things would be between them once he opened the door. He could use the time to draw the tension and anticipation out until they were thin enough to snap.

“… when the valley’s hushed and white with-”

Long enough – it had been long enough this time. Steve yanked the door open with no warning and a good amount of force. If he was wrong, if Stark was too drunk to do anything but sleep in Steve’s bed, he’d have been leaning heavily against it, and so tumbled ass over tea kettle into the building. Thankfully (because it was a night when Steve _wanted_ and _needed_ ) the blacksmith was standing a few feet away under his own power, and he wasn’t even swaying. There was a familiar twinkle in his pretty eyes, and the smirk on his lips was softer, sweeter than it would have been for anyone else.

“Irish. Wasn’t sure you’d hear.”

“I have a name, Stark.”

“I know that, _Steve_.” The way his name fell from Stark’s lips was pure sin. His ma would’ve warned him about men like Stark if she’d known her son would be interested in gentlemen; all the mama’s in town warned their daughters against Stark in particular. When Stark stepped forward, Steve jutted out his jaw stubbornly and refused to budge from the doorway, thinking this was a night for challenges and seeing who would blink. That damned smirk softened further into a smile, but that quickly turned wicked. “Aren’t you going to let me in so you can scold me for disorderly conduct, _Steve_?” God, he’d never allow anyone else to get away with saying his name like that.

“Ain’t you tired of getting lectured by me yet Stark?”

“Never, _Steve_.” Now the man was crowding him, their chests almost touching, so close to each other that he ached with need. “Though I listen better when you don’t use my last name.”

“Stark-”

“ _Steve_ …” Stark only had an inch or so to lean up before he could catch Steve’s mouth in one of his searing, life-changing kisses. When he started to do just that, Steve felt and heard his own breath hitch, lips tingling with the promise of thorough use in the near future… but Stark stopped short, lips not quite brushing against his when he spoke. “Don’t wanna be ‘Stark’ and ‘Sheriff Rogers’ right now. Do you?”

“No,” he admitted hoarsely, near desperate to cross that last little bit of distance between them but unwilling to be the one that blinked first. Stark chuckled quietly, then rewarded Steve for his honesty. At first it was just a nuzzling of his lips against Steve’s, then a playful flick of his tongue that made Steve moan. Then Stark licked his way past Steve’s lips, not a bit of hesitancy in the way that sinful tongue of his speared inward. He claimed Steve’s mouth with the easy familiarity of a long-time lover, one who knew exactly how to drive Steve to his knees. The man licked and stroked and _owned_ , hungry and showing that he needed just as much as Steve did. It was amazing, really, how Stark could kiss him so aggressively and could lay a claim so thoroughly, then turn sweetly pliant when his body was beneath Steve’s.

As soon as Steve took hold of his hips, ready to haul him inside, Stark pulled back. Now it was him gripping the doorjamb, refusing to be moved. “Say my name,” he demanded, breath moving hot over Steve’s lips.

“ **Stark**. Stop playing games and _come inside_.” Not because Steve cared about the odd passer-by ambling down the street where they could see – everyone in town seemed to know the blacksmith and sheriff regularly fucked and politely didn’t mention it in public. No, he just wanted Stark naked in the firelight, hard muscles relaxed and limbs loose from the pleasure he’d given the man. He wanted Stark’s taste on his tongue and Stark’s scent clinging to him, lingering even after dawn broke. He wanted Stark’s moans in his ears, wanted the man’s breathless cries of ‘ _Steve Steve **Steve**_ ’ to fill the air between them. Steve _wanted_ , and he knew Stark did too.

“Say my name or I’ll walk away and never come back.” He wouldn’t – it was a bluff and they both knew it. They belonged together, the two of them, with their lives and bodies entangled until no one could tell where he ended and Stark began; circumstances meant _this_ was all they could have. This was all they could be, and neither of them would ever end it completely, not willingly. They might ignore each other for a few nights, might be cruel to each other on occasion, might sometimes walk away in anger… but they’d always come back, because _together_ was where they belonged. So the threat was really a plea, was Stark asking without saying the word ‘please’. That meant Steve had been wrong – it wasn’t a night for challenges. It was a night for softness, for as much tenderness as they could allow themselves knowing this was all they could have. Stark didn’t just want tonight – he was feeling wounded and was bleeding inside.

He needed Steve to help him heal and forget.

Understanding that… he could easily let himself blink first.

Lifting one hand, he slid his fingers into Stark’s wavy hair and cradled the back of his head. Some of the fight drained from the man, though he kept hold of the damned doorjamb. Slowly, gently, Steve sealed his mouth over Stark’s and then eased his way inside. This kiss was almost lazy, but thorough as Steve re-learned Stark’s mouth, seeking out the places that made his lover moan and tremble. The taste of whiskey was faint, almost nonexistent, which explained Stark’s more vulnerable need. Drink turned him brave and reckless; without it, he remembered too much to be so aggressive in his desire.

When Stark finally melted into him, Steve pulled back just enough to be able to nibble and suck at his lower lip. The brush of the man’s facial hair was familiar and pleasant, and everything Steve ever wanted. After tracing his tongue over Stark’s lips, he dipped inside again for just a moment, taking one last, sweet taste of the man before separating so he could press his mouth to Stark’s ear.

“ _Tony_.” He whispered roughly, loving the way the man shivered almost as much as he loved hearing the tiny whimper he let escape. “Come inside and come to bed.”

This time the man let go and allowed himself to be pulled inside. When the door shut behind them, ‘Stark’ and ‘Sheriff Rogers’ were left behind in the growing cold. They were just Tony and Steve, wrapped up in each other where they could ignore the outside world. In the safety and privacy of the dark broken only by a flickering, banked fire, they basked in the love they’d never verbalize under the harsh, unforgiving light of the sun.

For the night, they could let themselves be everything they would have been if things had been just a little different.

**Author's Note:**

> Mah tumblr is [here](http://tahlreth.tumblr.com/), where you can visit if you are interested in lots of Marvel and DA reblogs, tons of cat stuff, and random rants when I have things to say and no one to say them to. XD


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